Choose Your Own
by MidnightDawn999
Summary: Loyalty is built during the battles that seek to destroy it. Vladimir and Anatoly have to choose between brothers and family. (Teen!AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: OKAY, so this is going to be a little bit different. In this, Anatoly and Vladimir are 4 years apart, Anatoly the elder brother. This is an AU, separate from my & Rubblestrength's other stories where their parents died when Vlad was around 7. In this one, they're 17 and 13, and their parents still live. Rubblestrength and I are co-writing this, so, feel free to check out her page, she has some amazing stories up as well! Thank you for your time, and support, love you all. God bless!**

The house sounded quiet. Too quiet. It was sending prickles down Anatoly's arms, underneath his skin like ants crawling in his veins. For two days Ivan, their father, had been repeating that he had something to "Talk about". He refused to say what. He would say, "There are going to be big changes." And once again, wouldn't say what. Even their mother was anxious about today, Anatoly could see it written on her face. He felt nothing but pure dread himself, the idea of the oncoming change made him shudder. He closed his eyes against the feeling, like his heart was beating in tar. Their father had gotten home from his work about an hour prier, and the seventeen-year-old knew it was now. In mere moments, they were about to hear the news. Whatever that may be.

Vladimir sat beside his brother, staring at the table. The feeling of unshakable dread was still there. The thirteen-year-old had masked it with jokes... for days. He'd kidded with Anatoly, joking that it might be something like... Ivan shaving his beard or something. Yes, he'd pretended everything was all right... but deep in his mind, he had the distinct feeling that nothing was. Today would be the day that everything changed-that bit was true.

Ivan sat down at the head of the table, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh. Natalya, their mother, sat a little ways away from him, her face stoic even though her eyes held something more. "What is this about, Ivan?" she asked - more like demanded.

Vladimir finally glanced up, looking toward their father. They'd all had enough of the waiting. It was now or... well, it was now.

"I've been having a difficult week, I don't know if any of you actually noticed..."

That was how it began. A difficult week. Vladimir kept his eyes locked on his father. Yes, he'd noticed the man had been angrier than he normally was. What he didn't know, was why.

Anatoly's jaw clenched. He would deny he felt what he felt - which was worry. He wouldn't admit it, especially not now. So instead he listened in silence, the artificial lights burning his eyes. He barely kept from cringing.

There was a long silence that followed, long and awkward. Vladimir wondered why this was. "and...?" he asked. He wasn't good at waiting.

"Be patient, Vladimir," Ivan snapped, meeting his youngest son's gaze. He took a deep breath, hands tightening into fists before he continued. "We are going to make changes."

"You've been saying that," Vladimir stated quietly. He glanced sideways at Anatoly, then back at their father.

"I know I'm not perfect, but you all..." Ivan took a moment to look at everyone in the room, "...need to admit that you aren't either. Some of us have problems..." he began. "You two," he pointed two fingers toward Vladimir and Anatoly. "don't spend enough time with your mother and I. In public, you are an embarrassment to us-to me."

"An embarrassment?" That was all Vladimir could manage. Nice to know that was what their own father thought of them-though sadly, it wasn't shocking.

Anatoly winced, though gave no other sign of acknowledgment.

"Don't interrupt me." Ivan put a hand up. "I'm going to apologize - I should have done this sooner, for that, I'm sorry. There are things I want us individually to work on."

"Oh?" Vladimir asked. His surprise turned into vague annoyance.

"Who should I start with?" Ivan's voice sounded resigned.

Anatoly ground his teeth together, the dread becoming that much worse. He knew what it was about now - all of their failings. Their shortcomings. This was it. The final shove that was about to break their family.

"Just start." Their mother said. Her voice was tense and stressed as she crossed her arms and waited.

So, with that, Ivan began. "I think you spend too much time reading, and sewing. You need to spend more time with the boys and their schooling."

"You think I spend too much time sewing?" Her tone fell flat.

Vladimir hated the look in her eyes. Ivan had hurt her... perhaps not physically, but what he'd done may have been worse. Their father had just taken what their mother loved, and used it as a weapon against her. That was part of her joy-sewing. It was something she did to take her mind off her troubles...

"Yes. Sewing is fine as long as it's used for mending clothing for this family - but you spend too much time doing it. This is just what I notice, I'm sorry if I miss anything." Anatoly did flinch finally. His nails dug into the palms of his hands.

"Miss anything? What do you mean, 'miss anything?'" Vladimir gritted his teeth. Did their father mean he was sorry if he ran out of things to berate them for? The young teen's blood boiled. How dare he do this... take their family-already so close to breaking-and lay out supposed "failings" before everyone. What he was doing wasn't "fixing" anything. It was driving a wedge between everyone.

"And Vladimir - your attitude has to change. You don't talk to anyone but your brother, and I think that needs to stop. When we go in public, you two split up, okay?"

"What's wrong with that? Is getting along with my brother wrong?" Vladimir frowned. If he was out here much longer, his attitude would DEFINITELY change, and it wouldn't be for the better.

"Did I say there was something wrong with it? What I said was, you need to spend less time together. You are overly co-dependent, and it is embarrassing, and inappropriate, okay?" Ivan leaned forward, putting his hands on the table and lifting his eyebrows, now-wide eyes staring at Vladimir.

Vladimir wanted to yell in his face-he wanted to hit him. Hate... that was what he felt. As wrong as it was to hate one's family... in that moment, he couldn't help himself. "I hate talking to anyone else, so no. It's not okay." Vladimir glared darkly. Anatoly was the only person alive who could stand him at his worst... so how could he just "talk" to other people? It wasn't that simple.

Anatoly's back muscles had started knotting. "What brought this on?" he pressed through his clenched teeth.

"You all disrespect me. I'm tired of it. I've been thinking about it a lot..." Ivan stated, turning his attention toward Anatoly now. "And you..." He paused, as though trying to think of what to tell Anatoly. "You spend too much time in your room, and you don't tell me what you're doing. I'm not comfortable with that. How about, we set a time. You can only be in your room for an hour. That goes for you too Vladimir. Do you understand?" he turned his gaze to Anatoly.

Anatoly tensed even more than he had been before. He bit back a thousand different retorts - none of them would end this lecture. His hands shook, and he hid them under the table out of sight. No one would even know what he was thinking - no one but Vladimir. "Yes."

"What do you think we do?" Vladimir spat. How dare Ivan think he could assume to know anything about them. The man spent his days working... even when he was home, all he did was work. If he wanted to control them-or raise them... whatever he called it-he should have done it when they were younger. He couldn't just change the way they lived.

"Well I don't know, and that's the problem. If you let me into your lives more, we wouldn't be having this discussion." Ivan's tone was informing. Anatoly hated it. In fact, he could feel something simmering in his heart that he wasn't even trying to fend off anymore. Disgust, despise, hatred.

"You're saying this is our fault?" Anatoly asked, his voice low.

"I didn't say that, but... you do need to accept responsibility. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Anatoly couldn't say anything. He didn't want to. Yet if he stayed silent, his father would continue pushing, staring him down from across the table until he spoke. Obedience and respect - it was all that man wanted, Anatoly was sure of it. He was a stranger. His father had left them, their mother had died when she'd had her stroke. They'd raised themselves. The realization came with a numbness he'd never felt before. "I do."

"Okay, go to your rooms. I'm going to talk to your mother, then I'll call you back one at a time."

Anatoly didn't hesitate to get up. He was already moving, heading to the hall, only turning to make sure his brother was right there with him. He wasn't going to leave his sibling to the ruin that was their kitchen. That was once a home.

Vladimir-like Anatoly-had not waited even a full second. He'd been up and following his brother the moment they'd be "dismissed." He sneered, making sure the expression was visible. The hallway couldn't come fast enough, and if it wouldn't anger Ivan, Vladimir would've been moving much faster just to be away from this.

The walk down the hallway was a blur for the elder brother. Anatoly opened the door, walking straight to his bed and being sure to leave the lights off. His eyes burned, and he refused to admit to himself why.

Vladimir stormed in, shut the door-making sure to do it loudly-and walked toward the single candle they kept in their room. He pulled a match from beside it and struck it, using the rough wood on the edge of the desk to do so. He lit the candle, and slid it far back onto the desk. With that, he moved across the room and slid to the floor. "We need to spend less time together? What does that mean? Stupid... it's stupid." Vlad's voice was tense and angry-seething.

"Why now?" Anatoly spat. "Disrespectful? He's the one destroying this, 'family'."

Vlad nodded. "Does he even care? Hmm I doubt it. He's not around enough to notice," Vlad growled.

Anatoly hit his fist against the wall. His chest shuddered at every intake of air. Their parents had no idea. They had no idea the pain Vladimir and he had been through together. "They have no idea. They have no idea."

Thirteen-year-old Vlad grimaced. "You all right?" He knew Anatoly hated things like this... he hated family drama and "talks" their father had. Of course, none of them had ever been this bad.

Anatoly's laugh was hollow. He leaned his forehead against the wall, the slowly-increasing pain in his chest refusing to taper off. "Frustrated," he said simply, trying to keep his tone quiet. "And you?"

"I'm angry-to put it nicely... I... He has no idea. He thinks he's fixing us? We're not broken. If anything is wrong, it's HIS fault."

Anatoly opened his mouth when a someone knocked on the door. "Anatoly, come out here." He shut his eyes, taking a calming breath. He fought off the pinching pain in his chest, and put a grim smile on his face - more of a smirk really. He turned to Vladimir.

"Wish me luck," he spoke, sarcasm dripping off his words.

"Good luck. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Vladimir's voice was filled with sorrow for his brother, and annoyance at the situation.

"Da." Anatoly moved to the door, walking quickly down the hallway - best to just get it over with. He sat down at the table, posture rigid.

"Anatoly..." Ivan sighed. "I don't want to say anything nice... because that's not the point of this." He leaned an elbow on the table and pressed two fingers against his lips. Taking a deep breath, Ivan started. "You are very hateful to me, to your mother... I don't know what to tell you. It has to change."

Anatoly clasped his hands to keep from destroying the palms of his hands with his nails. "How have I been hateful?"

"You never want to talk to me. When I come home, you're always in your room. You mother tells me you are the same way with her sometimes. Is that true?"

Anatoly opened his mouth to speak - to speak the truth. That Natalya was never in the living room, because he and Vladimir were there more often than she was. He wouldn't give his father more ammunition against her. With a blank expression, Anatoly met his eyes. "Yes."

"Well, that has to change. I want you to stay out here whenever I come home. I barely see you... or your brother for that matter." He sighed. "Is there a reason you're angry at me?"

Anatoly lost his voice. He had no answers that were truth, and he had none that were kind. Time blurred and the lights became overwhelming, trying to take over his senses. "Can I go?" he managed, his voice coming out hoarsely.

"Not until you answer. Are you angry at me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You're blaming us for the past."

Ivan frowned. "I haven't blamed you for anything. Now, go get your brother."

Anatoly stood up, the chair slamming nosily against the table. He was already down the hallway before Ivan could call him out on the angry action. He stopped outside the room, turning his back. He couldn't speak, not yet. He had to. His breathing became labored and he struggled to regain control. His heart was hammering and something had lodged itself in his throat.

For what seemed like days, he stayed this way, hands pressed against his temples.

Eventually he moved, trusting his voice was finally going to cooperate. He moved inside the room, ducking his head as he stepped to his own bed and collapsed onto it. "He wants to talk to you now," Anatoly sighed.

"Great..." Vladimir stood up and glared at the door. "Wish me luck." He took slow steps toward the door. The dread was gone. There was no worry, only anger and blame. He reached the door and let himself out. He closed the door after himself and strode down the hall, head raised. Vladimir hoped he looked as defiant as he felt.

Ivan watched his son, his fingers steepled in front of his face. "Sit down, Vladimir," he quietly commanded.

Vlad smirked. "I'd rather stand. Don't plan on being out here long."

Ivan frowned disapprovingly, but said nothing more on that matter. "You are angry for no reason - I don't understand why you are acting this way, you aren't as bad."

"I'm just as "bad" as everyone else." Vladimir stated, sneering. He had never been as gifted as Anatoly at hiding his anger. In fact, it was his weakness... he supposed.

"I think that it is your fault that your brother is angry. You've always been the one with the temper - you're being a bad example."

Vladimir laughed derisively. "Well, sorry I'm not good enough, but you raised me."

"I have my issues too, I'm not saying I don't. You need to take responsibility for your actions. You need to help your mother around the house - and be more amenable."

"A-what-able?" Vlad huffed. He wasn't going to be anything other than himself. He was going to go back to his room and talk to Anatoly-like he always did. His father was cutting the family apart. Now, it wasn't a home-it was a battle ground. They weren't a family, they were armies choosing sides. He chose his own... where his only ally was his brother.

 **Well that turned into one very, very, unexpectedly long chapter! Haha. Hope you enjoyed... A lot of drama, yes, this is something new for Rubblestrength and I! Or at least, new ground with these characters... See where this goes. God bless!**


	2. Chapter 2

The following weekend, Vladimir stared at the pages of his notebook. Homework. He sighed. Oh well, it was what it was, and if he wanted any kind of life, he'd have to do it. The next moment, someone knocked on his bedroom door. He looked up. "What?" No answer. The person knocked on the door harder this time.

"Answer when I'm knocking on the door."

Vlad recognized his father's voice. He dropped his head to the books he was studying and called, "I DID answer!" He hoped it was loud enough to be heard.

Without permission, the door opened. "No, you didn't. Don't make excuses. Come out here."

"But..."

"No. Don't make excuses. Get out here."

With a silent glare, he clenched his fists and shut his books. He'd been working... on school... the very thing their father claimed they NEEDED to do. Besides, Anatoly had told him to do it. Vlad could think of a hundred things more pleasant to do than school, yet he'd sat and diligently worked at it... now, was he in trouble for that too?

He rolled off his bed and gave one last glance at his books. Breathing out a long sigh, Vladimir left his room, preparing himself for whatever was about to come. Over the last week, he'd been trying-he and Anatoly, had done all they could to please their father. With everything they did, he'd come up with something they weren't doing good enough, and he'd told them. What kind of father actually flat out said his children were an embarrassment? Vlad shook his head.

As Vladimir reached the end of the hallway, he could see that the family was once-again gathered in the kitchen. Lovely. He could see the look of dread on Anatoly's face. Vlad was certain his expression was the mirror of his brother's.

"Vladimir, sit down."

For the first time in a long time, Vladimir felt uncomfortable around the family. Slowly, he walked forward and sat down beside Anatoly. "How was your day?" he asked, making eye contact with Ivan. He swallowed loudly, but hoped it wasn't audible.

"Fine. What did you do today?"

"I... we went to school. I was just working on my homework when you called me out." Whatever he'd said sparked a look of anger in Ivan's face. Oh no... Vlad barely kept from cringing. What did he do? He'd only said that he had worked on homework!

"And you, Anatoly?"

Anatoly shifted in his chair, meeting his father's eyes. "School. Talked to Vladimir, and Mom." The older brother turned away, briefly looking at his brother before he went to staring vacantly into space - as though hoping it would keep more anger from crossing Ivan's face.

Ivan nodded. "You didn't do anything else?"

Vladimir wondered what this was? What answer could he give that wouldn't enrage him? Vlad had found out that the only temper that rivaled his own... was that of his father. He'd rather not get into that, because when they fought, Ivan seemed to drag everyone else into it, and blame Anatoly and their mother for Vladimir's attitude. So, no matter how badly he wanted to say what was on his mind, he had to keep it back. "We didn't do anything else." He hoped that would be good enough.

Ivan sighed. Natalya had busied herself with dishing out dinner - Anatoly was all but counting down every awkward second until they parted ways. "I told Fyodor I don't think I'm capable of love." It was a pointed comment, so innocent but so poisonous - Anatoly could see the world flicker for the briefest of moments, Natalya's hands began shaking as she dished out the food, Anatoly's own expression darkened.

"Why do you say that?" Natalya asked, her voice lined with something buried so deeply that Anatoly could only guess what it was.

Ivan shifted in his seat and looked around the table. "Just because. Love isn't something I can do."

Vladimir snorted. His eyes widened and he hoped it wasn't audible. Still, there Ivan went saying he wasn't CAPABLE of love. That was as good as saying he didn't love his family, though he hadn't said it in that way. "Did anything good happen today?" Vlad asked, hoping to steer the family away from a path down the dark and angry one Ivan seemed to actually WANT to go down.

"Nothing unusual."

"Has Dmitri signed the contract?" Natalya asked.

"Not yet. Why does it matter?" Ivan asked.

Vladimir ducked his head and stared at his plate. Did Ivan actually WANT to fight? They were all trying SO hard to stop that from happening, yet, with everything he said, it seemed that he was trying to start an argument.

"I thought you wanted to work with this contract," Anatoly spoke, once more looking at Ivan.

Ivan seemed stoic. "I am still looking for different work."

"Any ideas where?" Vlad asked.

"No."

This was dreadfully awkward. "I'm sure something will happen soon." Natalya stated.

After a long and painful silence, Ivan spoke up again, his voice thoughtful as he seemed to be thinking aloud, "You know, when someone makes you angry, you hate everything about them..."

Vladimir glared. He looked up and stared Ivan in the eye. "Why do you mention it? Did someone make you angry?" His tone was on the verge of rage. He didn't want to fight, but that comment... Vlad was certain it was directed at them.

Ivan didn't answer. In fact, what he did was ignore - starting to poke at his food with the fork, as though debating what to start with. Anatoly clenched his fists, frowning, but saying nothing.

Vladimir started eating. He didn't feel like waiting for anymore awkward conversation. "Thank you for making diner." He looked at his mother and smiled-or tried to. She nodded and muttered a soft "You're welcome."

"Tastes strange." Ivan piped up. "And it's cold."

Vladimir's fists clenched. How could he? Their mother tried so hard to please him, and he NEVER saw what she did. Wasn't all her hard work important to him? Maybe he ought to make his own meals. "That's why we have a stove," Vladimir growled quietly.

Ivan opened his mouth, and before he could berate Vladimir, Anatoly spoke loudly - just enough to cover anything that Ivan may have been about to say. "Thank you, Mom."

Natalya smiled and nodded, though her eyes were rimmed with red.

Minutes passed, and everyone ate in silence. The clinking of silverware on plates was all that was audible.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ivan asked tersely.

"No one said that." Vlad mumbled.

"You all act like I've done something wrong."

Vlad silenced his anger before it came to the surface... barely. "Mom works hard, and you still act like she does nothing."

"I do not!" Ivan pounded a fist on the table.

"Yeah, you actually do," Vlad stated. Fight or not, Ivan should take responsibility for that. "Yell at me if you want... I'm not perfect, but leave Mom alone."

"When? Tell me a time when I have acted like that." Ivan's eyes widened and he looked at all of their faces.

"I would if I could pick one," Anatoly snapped, snarling.

Vladimir looked at their mother. "You just complained about diner, which she spent an hour making."

"Okay, well, I am sorry, I just thought it would be better warm." Ivan rocked back in his chair, sighing again.

Vlad frowned and shook his head. He didn't say anything else. No, he wasn't perfect... that much he knew. But wasn't it their father's job to love and protect their mother? He didn't... Vladimir couldn't ever recall hearing Ivan tell their mother that he loved her, in thirteen years, he'd never heard those words. Surely that must hurt Natalya. What did it matter if Ivan didn't love his own sons? Very little... Vlad and Anatoly had learned to deal with the cold relationship they had with Ivan-but their mother shouldn't have to feel that.

Anatoly looked at his sibling - he didn't need to say anything out loud, his thoughts were perfectly clear. This was what their life had turned into. After their mother had gotten ill so many years ago, everything had gone spiraling down - Natalya wasn't as pretty, young, and kind as she once was, and apparently it had driven Ivan to whatever this was. His disgust of what she was now was what had broken their family. Not the illness, not Vladimir's and Anatoly's apparent dis-respect.

"May I be excused? I need to do homework."

"No, Vladimir."

"When would you like me to do it then?" Vladimir bit his tongue to keep anything else from being said. Ivan didn't allow them to stay up past ten, and it was already eight. His homework would end up falling by the wayside tonight... he could guess that much.

"Don't talk to me like that. It is disrespectful." Ivan looked livid, even though his voice stayed low.

"We should be doing homework. Is there something else you need?" Anatoly spoke up, his expression something near a dare. School was important, oh the times he had heard that growing up. More than I love you, more than I'm proud of you - do your school, or you'll be homeless and worthless.

"Go. But come back out here when you are done. Do you understand?"

Vladimir nodded and looked to Anatoly. Blue eyes burned as he kept his tongue.

Anatoly stood with a curt nod. He waited for Vlad to follow before walking to the hallway - just like they had done the past three days. Just fast enough so Ivan wouldn't change his mind, and slow enough he wouldn't get angry and call them back.

Vladimir moved along behind Anatoly, treading over the cold flooring. Bare feet padded quietly over stone flooring, and he mused silently to himself that his footsteps were the loudest thing in the house just then.

Anatoly closed the door behind them once they were in the room. He moved for a candle instead of the light. The light from the new flame bounced off the walls in the otherwise darkened room. He felt too tired. There were no words of anger, those had been drained out in the last few days - no tears, his eyes had dried. In fact, his soul felt just as dry and parched.

"What he said... about hating everything about someone when they make you angry. Do you suppose he thinks about how much he hates us?" Vladimir slid down the wall and looked at his brother. Though Vlad wouldn't say it aloud, it hurt to know that his father hated him.

Anatoly followed the motion, his shoulder bumping against Vladimir's. "He said it, he must have been thinking it." The teen let his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud.

"Mhmm..." Vladimir closed his eyes. "I know I'm... difficult," Vlad sighed, "...but do we deserve that? Hate... just because we're not perfect? I never told him I hated him... not even when I felt like saying it." Vladimir crossed his arms and breathed out a long sigh.

"Yeah." Anatoly wondered when he would feel alive again - feel anything other than dread, and sorrow, or anger, or exhaustion. Because those had taken residence where feelings of peace had once been.

 **Thank you for reading!**


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